


Am I Not Merciful?

by Guanin



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Is that why you came here? To find out why I decided to spare your life?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Am I Not Merciful?

A gun clicked behind him. Not unexpected. Surely righteous anger was bound to drag one of his vengeful enemies in his direction. Bennet most likely, though it stretched credulity for them to have picked up his trail so quickly. But honestly. The eclipse was over. He wasn’t helpless bleeding heart anymore. But now, what was this, he thought as he turned to face his would be captor. Not Bennet. Not his lovely daughter either, though no less fire burned in this man’s eyes. Boy, rather. From what he’d seen, Peter had barely graduated from training wheels.

“Now, Peter. Do you really think that’s wise?”

In his favor, Peter’s arms were steady as he aimed the gun, stance fierce and determined just like when he’d faced his father, the would be patricide, but there was something different about this. His eyes were wet, but not with tears. Peter wasn’t about to start bawling all over him. Now that’d be an unpleasant spectacle. But he was unstable, hanging onto control by the slimmest, little string. His jaw clenched and unclenched, an anxious breath whistling though his grimacing mouth. Now what was this? Surely his killing Peter’s father had nothing to do with it. Peter had let the bullet fly himself. Were it not for Sylar’s last minute intervention it would have hit its mark. Something else happened, something that had pushed Peter to the brink of his mental stability. Intriguing.

“I have to stop you.”

Sylar suppressed an exasperated sigh. Now honestly. Why did everyone insist on sticking to the same useless , clichéd phrases?

“Really, Peter. You could have stopped me so many times before and yet you kept failing, and that was when you were still special.”

Peter twitched at the last word, his brows furrowing in a hurt pout. It was almost adorable.

“Doesn’t matter. All I need to do is pull this trigger, shoot you straight in the brain. Then you’ll be dead anyway.”

“And yet you’re standing there menacing me instead of actually doing it. You should have learned by now that giving your enemies a fair warning leads to the brave hero getting a hole in his head.”

“You didn’t kill me back there.”

“And now you’re making me regret it.”

“Or when you threw me out the window. At Pinehearst. My father told you to kill me but you didn’t.”

Sylar narrowed his eyes. The lie detecting power was silent, but Peter was stating simple facts. That wouldn’t help him with this line of enquiry. He should have killed a telepath.

“Is that why you came here? To find out why I decided to spare your life?”

Peter hesitated, his left elbow starting to falter.

“Yes.”

Silence. No tingling, but something itched at him. It wasn’t the whole truth.

“If that’s the case, I’d say you wasted your time. I wasn’t in my right mind then. Don’t think that there was anything generous in it.”

“But you stopped me now. What you said... You didn’t have to say it. If you’re back to being a killer, if you don’t care, why did you bother?”

That’s what this whole thing was about? It couldn’t be. Surely Peter wasn’t this simple.

“I was stating a fact. If you’re reading any warm or gooey feelings into it you’re stupider than I gave you credit for.”

“I’m not,” Peter scoffed, lips twisting into a disgusted grimace. “I know there’s nothing warm or decent about you.”

A shiver, not quite a tingle, floated along his nerves.

“But you were hoping there might be.”

“What? No!”

Definite tingle this time. Sylar smiled despite himself. That was just precious. And just this side of annoying.

“Were you hoping that we were really brothers? That we’d go to family parties together? Watch baseball games? Walk each other’s dog?”

Peter remained resolutely silent, no doubt hoping he wouldn’t be caught in a lie. So the boy was capable of learning. Pity for him it didn’t happen quickly enough.

“That’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard. Stupid. Downright insane, but I’m not one to judge. Nothing wrong with a little madness as long as you point it in the right direction. Yet you seem to be going for suicidal. Tell me, how badly did your real brother hurt you that you’re here looking for comfort from a serial killer?”

Peter’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in a denial, but either he’d finally developed some sense or he was too much of a coward to say it, for he stayed silent. The gun fell slightly. His arms were getting tired. He wasn’t cut out for this. He’d feel better curled up on his mother’s lap sipping hot chocolate.

“He’s not the reason I’m here.”

These tingles were starting to get annoying.

“You need to stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying!”

Goddamn!

“No. Really. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Wait. You can tell if I’m lying? That’s how you knew that...”

Peter trailed off, looking confused, and that was half his repertoire of facial expressions right there. He dropped his arms to his sides, but his grip tightened so fiercely that his knuckles shone white, his shoulders and face set in a glare so fierce that Sylar might have stepped back if he’d been a normal person.

“I’m glad you’re not my brother.”

Ah. No tingle this time, but then, he hadn’t expected one.

“I’m ecstatic,” Peter continued, spitting out the words as if they were a curse meant to hurt Sylar’s feelings.

Sylar’s nails dug into his left palm.

“Well then I don’t see what you’re doing here,” he said, turning to walk away.

“Stop!”

“Now why would I do that? You won’t shoot me, else you wouldn’t have bothered to lower your gun. You could shoot your own father but you can’t shoot me.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell you the truth because you’re too much of a coward to say it yourself?”

“Shut up!”

“It was a coincidence, a chance encounter. You happened to be there killing your father right when I needed him to tell me one thing. That’s it. And you did kill him. I shouldn’t have bothered lifting that burden off your shoulders. You’re nothing but an annoying little hanger who leeches onto the nearest strong hand because yours is too weak to defend you.”

“Shut up!”

Peter flew toward him and Sylar pushed him back at the last minute, slamming him against the building next to them, then he thought: That wasn’t just a fanciful metaphor. Peter really flew. His feet lifted off the ground, body launching itself like a torpedo. Huh.

“You just flew.”

“Let me go!”

Peter struggled in his grip, but holding him required no more concentration than blinking.

“You had a taste of the formula.”

“Sylar.”

“Yes, I can feel it now. A miniscule yet so very vital altering in your DNA. Not the precious prize you had before, but it’ll do.”

“Sylar!”

“I’ve always wanted that one. You shouldn’t have let me see it. How careless of you.”

“Sylar, don’t—“

“Sorry, Peter. I’m taking what’s mine.”

Sylar raised his right hand, pointing at Peter’s forehead with his forefinger, and started to inching it to the right, but then Peter did the last thing Sylar expected him to do. He went limp. All tension drained out of his body, his arms falling uselessly to his eyes, eyes gliding closed for a moment before looking back at him, but there was no pleading in them. No last minute begging soaked with tears and a sickening “please”. No wretched appeals to a softer side Sylar didn’t have. He just lied there, waiting for Sylar to cut him open and take his life.

Sylar lowered his hand, staring at Peter in puzzlement. What was this? Why wasn’t Peter screaming like he should be?

“What are you doing?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

“Nothing. I can’t do anything. You made sure of that.”

“And you’re fine with that. You’re just going to let me kill you after you rushed here so gallantly to save all those lives that I’m soon going to take?”

“What does it matter to you? What’s wrong? You can’t get off unless I scream?”

Sylar shoved him harder into the wall, enough to make Peter gasp and fight to breathe.

“You’re toying with me.”

“I’m not.”

His skull vibrated. Fuck.

“Then what? Killing your father filled you with self-loathing and suicidal thoughts? Maybe you had a spat with your dear brother and decided life was too hard. You couldn’t take it anymore.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“Why are you here?”

“To stop you.”

Sylar dropped him, watching him fall hard on his knees, then lunged forward, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and physically pushed him against the wall again, his hands hot against Peter’s shivering flesh.

“Stop giving me that lame excuse and tell me the truth.”

“Why the hell do you care? You were going to kill me. So kill me.”

“But you don’t want me to kill you.”

Peter clenched his jaw, looking away.

“Yes or no, Peter.”

Silence. Sylar was a second away from grabbing Peter by the hair and forcing him to look at him when Peter did it himself. There was the begging.

“No.”

Ah.

“Good.” Sylar released him, letting him fall once more to the floor. “If you’d said yes and it’d been a lie, I would have killed just for annoying me.”

“You mean you won’t kill me?”

Peter looked up at him with the earnestness of a dog lying at his master’s feet. Sylar shook his head.

“And they say I’m the one who needs psychological help.”

But this wasn’t over. Just because he’d grown bored with the idea of slashing Peter’s head open didn’t mean he wasn’t getting his prize. Perhaps some of what occurred in this acid trip of a week could be of use. He concentrated on Peter’s eyes (windows of the soul, after all) and felt around his rattled mind.

“What a—“

Sylar hushed Peter, right hand raised, and oddly enough, Peter complied. Sylar stroked along his thoughts, feeling over those firing wisps of electricity to dig deep inside his brain for that underlying structure, that elegant, beautiful design painted inside the mind of every individual, gleaming with the promise of his own glory. His birthright. With a sharp, yet painless incision, he found the mutation in Peter’s brain, so fresh and new that he grinned with the joy of it as he grasped it in his mind.

His body felt light. Opening his eyes, he looked down to discover himself floating a foot off the ground. Now that’s more like it.

“How did you do that?” Peter asked,.

He scrambled off the ground, gaping at Sylar, pretty face wide with shock.

“A little trick I learned.”

Sylar’s limbs itched with the need to take to the air and test this wonderful new power.

“But then you don’t have to kill people. You can just—“

“Now, Peter. What would be the fun in that?”

In his favor, Peter had the good sense not to look disappointed.

“Time for me to go, fake baby brother. I’m afraid I can’t prolong this touching moment any longer.”

Oddly, Peter didn’t reach for the gun. It was right there, lying three feet away. He glanced at it, lips curling in a lopsided grimace, but he didn’t move. And then the grimace turned into a smile.

“Fine.”

Oh, crap. Maybe Sylar had knocked his head too hard against the wall. Fuck it. He didn’t have time for this. Turning away, he took off into the sky, yet Peter’s last, pestering words nipped at his heels.

“But you still didn’t kill me.”


End file.
